The Bane of Their Persistence
by the moon and the stars
Summary: "Put away your arrows, Cupid. You won't be needing them today." / When the high warlock of Brooklyn received a parade of unwelcome visitors, he couldn't help but wonder: Why was his love life, or lack thereof, cause for public concern? Missing scenes from CoHF. Magnus/Alec implied.
1. Put Away Your Arrows, Cupid

**The Bane of Their Persistence**

**Summary:** "Put away your arrows, Cupid. You won't be needing them today." / When the high warlock of Brooklyn received a parade of unwelcome visitors, he couldn't help but wonder: Why was his love life, or lack thereof, cause for public concern? Missing scenes from CoHF. Magnus/Alec implied.

**Disclaimer: **All source material belongs to Cassandra Clare and associated parties. None of the characters, setting, or anything else from the Shadow World belongs to me. I'm just borrowing them briefly for my own amusement. Contains mild spoilers for CoLS and CoHF.

**Rating: **K+

**A/N:** Takes place sometime after Magnus and Alec's breakup at the subway station at the end of CoLS. When I read the Magnus/Jace confrontation in CoHF (quoted below) I wondered what those three previous encounters might have been like. So here they are – my version, at least. Enjoy!

* * *

"_You're Alec's friend. Alec was my boyfriend, so I had to put up with you. But now he's not my boyfriend, so I don't have to put up with you. Not that any of you seem to realize it. You must be the – what, fourth? – of you lot to bother me." […] "Clary. Isabelle. Simon – " _

– Magnus to Jace / _The Mortal Instruments City of Heavenly Fire_ © Cassandra Clare [p. 46]

* * *

**Chapter 1: Put Away Your Arrows, Cupid**

It was only a week after he ended things with Alec that Magnus began to realize the full extent of the fallout.

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise. He always knew that Shadowhunters came with an impressively large set of baggage, just as he knew that dating one was inviting said baggage into his own life. What he didn't know was that it would continue haunting him even after the relationship was dead and buried.

It began with the sound of a doorbell.

Across the living room, the warlock sat up abruptly. If someone made it up the stairs to his door without first being buzzed into the building, they did so with assistance. Magical assistance. Runes, most likely. Tools of the Nephilim.

A Shadowhunter.

Magnus sighed. Ever since he and Alec had parted ways in the subway station, he had received no less than thirty-seven phone calls and texts and he did not answer a single one. After the first dozen messages had clogged his inbox, he stopped checking his phone altogether. There wasn't any need. They all followed the same theme. He was sorry. He screwed up. He missed him. _I just want to talk, Magnus, just call me back – _

The doorbell buzzed again, and Magnus was strongly tempted to ignore it. But he supposed he could only put off the inevitable for so long.

Securing his loose bathrobe, he dragged himself to the door, his squeaky slippers protesting with every step. He glanced through the peephole only to furrow his brows at what he saw.

Then again, on some level, shouldn't he have expected this, too?

Without a word the door swung open, revealing a petite redhead on the other side.

"Hey, Magnus."

He blinked. For a moment he was reminded very much of Jocelyn, who used to visit him every two years, daughter in tow, to shield her young mind from the horrors of the Shadow World. Now, Clary Fray appeared full of the same shining determination as her mother, clearly confident – though likely just as misguided – in whatever incentive brought her to his doorstep.

"Sorry, biscuit," he told her, "but Saint Magnus's Home for Wayward Shadowhunters is officially out of business. But feel free to check out the Motel 6 three blocks over."

Clary levelled him with a look. "I'm not here for room and board."

"I figured," said Magnus. "But it's like I already told you – well, you, Maryse, Brother Zachariah, and a long list of other inquiring parties – there's nothing I can do about your pyromaniac boyfriend. That kind of help is far beyond my pay grade."

He could have told her that in spite of such, he had already made several extensive (though ultimately fruitless) attempts to improve Jace's prognosis. He could have told her that in spite of centuries of magical expertise, he found himself stumbling through uncharted territory, and that the mystery of the heavenly fire was proving to be one of the biggest roadblocks the warlock had ever encountered.

But Magnus said nothing further on the subject. He saw no reason to dampen Clary's optimism sooner than necessary.

"I'm not here for that either," she said as her eyes fell to the floor. She tucked a nonexistent lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly looking smaller in his doorway. "Besides, Alec told us about your new mandate on freeloaders. How you're sick of being our go-to fix-it guy. I got it. Message received." There was a bitter edge to her voice, but when her gaze shifted back up, she looked bright and unaffected. "Speaking of Alec," she segued. "Have you heard from him lately?"

Magnus stared at her. "Don't tell me _that's_ the reason you're here. As we speak, Jace is slowly being consumed by a dangerous force he can't control; the Nephilim stand on the brink of war against a psychopath who makes Valentine look like a frightened Chihuahua; and you choose to focus on the insignificant feelings of two incompatible individuals?"

"So you _do _still have feelings for Alec."

"Of course that's your takeaway," sighed Magnus. "Well, put away your arrows, Cupid. You won't be needing them today."

"Right. Because you still have feelings for him."

"Because it's none of your business," he corrected firmly. "Clary, I realize it's difficult, given your meddlesome nature, but would you kindly butt out of my personal affairs?" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Did Alec send you?"

"Isabelle, actually," she admitted. "She seemed to think I'd be better at this sort of thing. Whatever that means." She shook her head. "Anyway, Izzy might've put the idea in my head, but it didn't take much convincing. I wanted to come."

"Is that so?"

Clary nodded. "Does that surprise you?"

"Not really. Clarissa Fray, getting involved when she ought to leave well enough alone. Must be Thursday." Before she could retort, he added, "Although why you'd decide to board this sinking ship is beyond me."

"Don't you mean _sunken_ ship?" she asked pointedly, looking far too smug for someone who still hadn't earned an invitation inside. "Course not. Because you don't actually believe you and Alec are beyond repair."

"Debatable."

"You still care about him," she insisted again.

"Of course I still care," said Magnus impatiently. "But sometimes that isn't enough. You of all people should know that."

Confusion darkened her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Jace, of course. You love him, but you can't be with him – I mean _really_ be with him – thanks to some, ah… divineintervention." He crossed his arms and gave a lazy shrug. "Sometimes caring about someone isn't enough to drown out the rest," he reiterated.

For a moment Clary looked stricken, but she recovered quickly. "You're right. I can't be with the one I love the way I want to. I'd do anything to change that, but I can't and it kills me. It _kills_ me, Magnus. But you," she went on, her chin lifting, "you have the chance I wish I had. You both clearly miss each other, there's nothing stopping you from being together, you actually have a _choice_ – "

"Exactly," interrupted Magnus. "It's my choice. Not Alec's, not yours. _Mine_. And as for nothing stopping me – " He cut off abruptly; he'd already said enough.

Dimly Magnus registered the soothing ruffle of Chairman Meow's fur against his bare ankle. He didn't look down, instead watching as Clary's expression softened at his outburst. "Look, I'm not saying Alec deserves an automatic pass for what he did. I mean, going behind your back with Camille was pretty low. But he seems pretty miserable about it. And," she rushed on when he made to intervene, "so do you. Might as well be miserable together."

"Like you and Jace? How poetic."

Unlike before, the remark rolled right off her. "You know I'm right."

Something in her tone struck a familiar chord, and Magnus regarded the young Shadowhunter curiously. No longer did she remind him of her guarded mother. Rather, her absolute certainty reminded him of the brazen girl who once gatecrashed his party and demanded the memories he stole from her, even after repeated warnings of the ugly truth that awaited her. She had not been swayed then, and she would not be swayed now.

Neither would he.

Magnus leaned back and something small and soft caught underfoot. A loud, indelicate yelp followed as the Chairman scampered off somewhere behind him. Again, Magnus barely spared him a glance.

"This has all been very informative and heartfelt and not at all annoying," he told Clary, "but enough is enough. Now please: go away."

Clary peered at him for a long moment, looking unsure about something until finally, she relented with a nod. "Fine. I said my peace anyway." She started shuffling backwards.

"Hallelujah."

Clary rolled her eyes before she turned around, heading for the stairs.

Before she descended, however, and before he could stop himself, Magnus called out. "Why did you come here, Clary? The truth."

She froze at the landing and glanced back. If the question surprised her, she hid it well. "Well, I could say I'm here for Alec. My friend. Isabelle's brother. Jace's _parabatai_. Or maybe it's completely self-serving. Maybe it's just my pathetic attempt to play matchmaker while my own love life goes up in flames. Literally. I mean, it's not like there's anybody else I'd be here for… is there?"

Her eyes lingered, making her point clear. Magnus's eyebrows shot up, surely vanishing beneath the wilted spikes on his head.

Without waiting for a response, Clary flashed down the stairs in a blur of coppery hair, but not before Magnus caught the hint of a smile and the parting words "see you around." It wasn't until she disappeared altogether that he thought to contradict her.

For several minutes Magnus didn't move from the doorway, not until a light draft began creeping inside, causing him to shiver in his modest attire. With an about face, he trekked back to the living room.

It was strange. The interruption was over and relief settled over him gradually like a light drizzle. But, he realized with no small amount of surprise, he wasn't sure whether the feeling stemmed more from obtaining her long overdue absence… or her honest answer.

Magnus sank back into the sofa as soon as he reached it. One thing was clear.

He never should have answered the door.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been awhile since I've read the series, and although I did do a bit of rereading, try not to hold it against me if my facts or timeline are a bit off. Hopefully it's believable enough. Next chapter should be coming out soon, so stick around!


	2. Emma Woodhouse, in the Flesh

**Chapter 2: Emma Woodhouse, in the Flesh**

_Bang bang bang_.

_Bang bang bang_.

Pause.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG_.

The door rattled on its hinges with each ham-fisted knock. Magnus wondered if whoever was laying siege to his apartment brought a battering ram.

"Magnus Bane!" thundered the intruder, inviting Chairman Meow to join the discord with a loud hiss. "Open up, I know you're in there!"

The warlock paused in the act of flipping through the latest issue of _Pixie Parade_. He knew that voice. He also knew that, like yesterday's uninvited guest, the one it belonged to wasn't here for his professional services.

"Don't test me, Magnus. I don't care if you're brooding or spell-casting or you're in the middle of a game of strip poker, I will bust down the door if you don't open it right now!"

There was no doubt in his mind that the threat was sincere.

The magazine slid from his fingers. In only a few paces Magnus was across the apartment and yanking the door open. He was not surprised to find a tall, raven-haired girl on the other side, her fist frozen mid-knock. Even out of her Shadowhunter gear she radiated the ferocity of an Amazon warrior.

"Ah. Emma Woodhouse, in the flesh," greeted Magnus. Isabelle stared back, the mundane reference lost on her, as her hand fell back to her side. "Delightful as you are, I'm afraid I'm not up for company of the Nephilim persuasion tonight. Or anytime soon, to be honest. I've had my fill of you lot to last a lifetime. Oh, and for the record," he added pleasantly, "I have a doorbell, and it works just fine, thank you."

"Don't be cute with me," she snapped, folding her arms brusquely. "I assume you know why I'm here."

"Because Clary was too subtle and you're a pro at the direct approach?" he deduced. "That was well done, by the way. Sending a friendly face to soften me up, and now you're here to lay down the law. I expect it's just as pointless to ask, but here goes: butt out. This isn't your fight."

"_Not my fight_?" she parroted back as if it was a personal insult. To a Shadowhunter, it probably was. "My brother's heart is broken and you're the reason why."

"Well, to be fair," said Magnus, and his voice was decidedly darker, "he did break mine first."

"So that's it? One bump in the road and you call it quits? Just like that?"

'_But it was just a mistake. One mistake – '_

Unwittingly the memory flooded his vision and Magnus shut his eyes, desperate to block it out, but it was useless; Alec's plea was on a constant loop in his head.

Forcing his eyes back open, Magnus refocused on present company. "No, not _just like that_," he told Isabelle. "And I'm not having this discussion with you."

"Fine. It's _him_ you should talk to. Look, he's sorry, okay? You know he is. So get over your wounded pride or whatever and quit punishing him."

"I'm not trying to punish him. I'm trying to move on with my life. Believe it or not, I had one before Alec, and I'll have one after him, too."

She scoffed. "Yeah, a crappy one."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"It's not, actually. My brother makes lives better, and that's a fact."

"When he is being honest, I agree."

"Oh, for the love of – " She threw her hands up, smoke practically billowing from her ears as she swore. For the first time in eight days, Magnus grinned. "You think this is funny? You know, you're not exactly innocent in all this! Alec told me what happened, he said – "

"Isabelle," he cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. His grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm not interested in what your brother – my ex-boyfriend – has to say."

She ignored him. "He wanted to build a life with you. Said you wanted the same. Isn't that what's important? It might not be picture perfect, but what is? Isn't it still worth holding on to?"

"You tell me."

Her nose wrinkled. "What?"

"How _are_ things going with your latest boy toy? Sinclair? Steven?" Magnus snapped his fingers as he searched his memory. "Well, whatever his name, I'm sure you've realized by now that dating a vampire is pretty much a dead end. No pun intended."

It was a cheap shot, he knew, thrusting her own ill-fated romance into the spotlight; just as he also knew that stubbornness ran deep in Nephilim blood, and subtlety was the last thing in the world to work on Isabelle Lightwood.

"First Clary, now you," he went on, fully aware of the girl's hands fisting at her sides. "Both of you choose to focus on others' problems rather than facing your own."

Her eyes flashed in the dim doorway. "My life is none of your business."

"I'm going to let the hypocrisy slide in favor of giving you a piece of advice – and I won't even bill you for it," he said graciously. "Be careful who you give your heart to. When mortals and immortals mix… it's dangerous for both sides. Trust me."

Isabelle flinched as his words hit the mark. Regardless, he did not expect her to back down and she did not disappoint. "Don't you dare lecture me, Magnus. Just because you've lived for eons – "

"Ouch."

" – doesn't give you the right to judge my relationsh – my _whatever_ with Simon. It's not the same." But beneath the fiery protest Magnus sensed a mind plagued with doubts – a victory that felt strangely hollow. Probably, he realized with mild alarm, because in that moment Isabelle reminded him so much of her brother – right down to the way her big bright eyes hid nothing, shining with equal parts defiance and vulnerability – that it almost physically hurt to look at her.

"It is the same," insisted Magnus, and for the first time there was compassion in his voice. "He's going to stay young and live forever and you won't. That's fact. That's the path you're on. Cruel as it may seem, you can't fight reality like you would a demon. You can't protect yourself from it any more than you can your brother, so answer your own question: Is it really worth it? Is the inevitable heartbreak worth a few fleeting moments of happiness?"

Isabelle stared at him for a long moment, her face surprisingly unreadable. He couldn't recall ever seeing her speechless before and when she finally recovered, it wasn't at all how he expected.

"That's absolute crap, Magnus."

"Excuse me?"

"I said that's _crap_." No longer did she look rattled. She stood taller, gazing at him with eyes as sharp as her tongue, and despite the adolescent phrasing, her voice carried the authority of someone decades older – all in all, not unlike her mother. Magnus shifted his weight against the doorframe. "All that stuff you just said – do you even buy any of it? Because I don't."

"Well, that's your prerogative."

"Don't you remember what you once said to me?" she asked abruptly. "'_To love as you choose, that takes strength_.' Sound familiar?"

Unfortunately, it did. He had said those exact words to her in a rare moment of shared affection for her brother… long before Magnus found out about Alec's secret extracurricular activities. Ironic, though not wholly surprising, that those words should be used against him now.

"And love without trust? Where's the strength in that?" The challenge carried none of Magnus's former humor or sympathy. "Did you think that you could just show up at my door and badger me into changing my mind? Grow up. This isn't something that can be fixed as easily as finding the solution in a spell book – something I wish Alec had thought about before he decided to sneak around with one of my exes."

"Interesting how the Camille incident suddenly feels like an afterthought," observed Isabelle. "Very interesting."

"I'm glad you're feeling enlightened."

"Oh I am," she said confidently.

"Again, kudos."

"And I think," she continued, "that although it might have been the catalyst, it's not anger driving the wedge between you and Alec anymore, it's fear. I think it's time you stop making Camille a convenient scapegoat for your breakup and take your own advice. Choose _strength_, Magnus."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Don't confuse strength with sense. There's no _sense_ chasing a lost cause. Give it time with your vampire, you'll see that I'm right," he cautioned. "There's nothing brave or admirable about prolonging something that's doomed from the start. It's foolish and masochistic. And I am neither. Not anymore."

Isabelle looked him up and down, her inspection deliberately slow, and he knew what she was seeing. His pale face, scruffy and eyeliner-free. Wrinkled pajamas that still bore a spaghetti stain from several meals ago. Hair that hadn't seen gel or glitter or barely even a comb in days. He was the walking, talking billboard for cries for help.

Isabelle snorted distastefully. "Who's kidding who here?" Without warning she pulled away from the doorframe, disengaging altogether. "But whatever. Like you, I can recognize a lost cause, so feel free to go on spiraling. Have a good, long life, Magnus. _Alone_."

He smiled tightly. Her words needled him more than he cared to admit, but he certainly wasn't going to stop her from leaving. "Always a pleasure, Cher."

With a final huff Isabelle turned on the spot, her long hair flying like the golden whip she wielded in battle. Magnus made to close the door –

"Oh, and one more thing."

– only to find it blocked by an angry woman determined to have the last word.

"The answer to your question," said Isabelle tersely, "is yes. My brother is absolutely worth it. He's worth a thousand heartbreaks. And if you can't see that, then forget everything I said, forget I was even here. You don't deserve him."

And with the swiftness of her kind, her hand flew out and yanked the door shut in the warlock's stunned face.

Finally alone, Magnus let his eyes fall shut and leaned his forehead against the cold door. On the bright side, no longer was it just the ghost of his ex-boyfriend playing keep-away with his thoughts. Another Lightwood now shared that honor.

It was just as well that she fled, Magnus decided. For once, he didn't have a single retort left.

_You don't deserve him_.

For once, he couldn't entirely disagree with her.

* * *

**A/N:** So this chapter went in a very different direction than originally planned, but I think it turned out okay even if Isabelle does come off sounding overly self-righteous half the time. I think that's pretty fair to her character actually, but I'll be the first to admit that Isabelle is harder for me to get a read on than others. I don't know. Was she right or wrong here? Did she help the situation or make it worse? I have my own opinions, of course, but I'm curious to hear yours.

Also, for those who aren't in the know: Emma Woodhouse is a Jane Austen heroine famous for her oft-awry matchmaking skills. And Cher is the feature character in the movie _Clueless_, a modern take on the Austen novel _Emma_. Lastly, there are a couple lines of dialogue in this chapter paraphrased from one of my favorite movies, _Ever After_. See if you can spot them!


	3. Lonely Hearts Club, Party of Two

**A/N**: For those who care about such things, this chapter contains mentions of underage drinking (scandalous!) but no _actual_ underage drinking. Not sure if that merits a rating concern or not. Oh well, moving on…

* * *

**Chapter 3: Lonely Hearts Club, Party of Two**

"Coming!" shouted Magnus as he headed for the front door, grabbing the generous tip he had set aside earlier. He rather hoped that with the added incentive the deliveryman would omit commenting on the number of times he had personally been to the warlock's apartment this week.

Reaching his destination, Magnus swung the door open… and froze.

Nearly a full week had gone by without incident – and with only the occasional text from Alec rather than the usual barrage of wasted apologies – and Magnus had actually believed that he'd endured the last of his ex's friends' senseless interference.

Apparently, no such luck.

"You're not my sweet and sour pork."

The newcomer blinked. "Well, that's a relief, since my standing in the Jewish community is questionable enough, being undead and all. Although," he reconsidered, "I think any possibility of keeping kosher went out the window along with my craving for, well, _food_ in general." He eyed the bills clenched in the warlock's fist. "That for me?"

Magnus was not amused. "Let me guess, vampire boy. You're _not_ here at the behest of a certain pushy Shadowhunter who's got you wrapped around her little finger? No offense, but your girlfriend must be getting desperate."

Simon suddenly looked uncomfortable, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "not my girlfriend." Magnus raised an eyebrow, and Simon exhaled loudly. "Look, I really don't want to be here anymore than you do, so how about you just let me say my spiel so I can at least say I tried?"

Magnus shrugged. "Why not? Can't be any worse than what I've heard so far." He opened the door wider and, without another word, made a beeline back to the living room.

"You're actually inviting me in?" called Simon. He sounded as if the warlock had just proposed an afternoon karaoke session.

"It isn't because I'm feeling charitable," Magnus directed over his shoulder. He heard the door click shut followed by the light steps of the vampire trailing after him. "You people are just becoming predictable. I tell you to go away, and soon enough an army will be pitching tents outside my door. Like you, I'd rather just cut to the chase."

Before reaching his destination, Magnus ducked into the kitchen. He tossed the bills back onto the counter before heading to the fridge and grabbing a beer. "Drink?" he offered, holding up the bottle.

"Bloody Mary, hold the Mary." Simon winced. "Okay, that was terrible. I'm good, thanks."

Magnus nodded stiffly. He popped the lid before rejoining his guest, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room despite the half-dozen seating options surrounding him. At a gesture from the warlock, he fell into a squishy lime green chair with a grace ill-befitting his species. Magnus took a seat on the sofa across from him and waited.

And waited.

Seconds ticked by as Magnus watched Simon's eyes dart around the room like a tennis ball. He couldn't completely blame him for the distraction, though. Had Magnus been in a mind to care, the host in him would have been appalled at the current state of his living quarters. Several baskets of unfolded laundry sat in the corner of the room collecting dust; at least a dozen old magazines littered the floor; and his coffee table held the beginnings of a collection of old Chinese take-out containers. Hardly fitting atmosphere for the high warlock of Brooklyn.

If his guest found the mess distasteful, he was sensible enough not to comment, instead remaining fascinated by the cover of a magazine grazing his sneaker. Magnus found himself wishing Simon had taken a drink, after all; watching him knead his hands over and over was just one more distraction to add to the pile.

And as he seemed to be in no hurry to get the ball rolling, the task inevitably fell to the reluctant host.

"Well?" prompted Magnus. "Isn't this the part where you try to convince me to take my ex-boyfriend back so that the world can go back to rotating on its axis? Although I have to say, I had no idea you all were so invested in my love life. I might even be flattered if this wasn't starting to feel like a bad television drama."

"Tell me about it," agreed Simon. "Wisteria Lane's got nothing on us."

Magnus's drink froze halfway to his face. "_You_ watch Desperate Housewives?"

He was certain that, were it possible, the vampire's face would be red. "Just once. Because of _Clary_."

Magnus thought about that as he rearranged himself on the sofa, sitting up and tucking his ankles beneath him. "It's interesting," he mused, "this little pattern of yours. Do you always let the women in your life call the shots, Sinbad?"

"It's _Simon_, and I don't – "

"Because if that wasn't the case, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Isn't that right?"

Simon said nothing.

"And speaking of lovely Isabelle," Magnus went on, "I take it she gave you a run-down of our little heart to heart last week?"

Simon looked somewhat mollified at the topic change. "Not the full transcript, but I got the gist. She… didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it much. Should I ask why?"

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer. I try not to involve myself in other people's drama. Well, _now_ I do," the warlock amended. "Unlike some people. Does Isabelle really plan to send everyone she's ever met over here? I'm only asking because if so, I should probably strengthen the wards around my apartment. Or get a guard dog. Although I can't imagine the Chairman would be very pleased with that."

Right on cue, the cat sauntered over and brushed against Simon's leg. "Shadowhunters fight _demons_ for a living," he pointed out as he reached down to stroke the cat's fur. It was the first time he had stopped his hands fidgeting. "A rabid Rottweiler jacked up on steroids is barely even a morning workout for someone like Isabelle."

"Well, there go my afternoon plans at the shelter," Magnus deadpanned. "Alright, Sherman. I believe that concludes the small talk portion of this conversation. Let's skip to the main event please. You said something about a speech? Well, by all means. Dazzle me."

Surprisingly, he obliged without hesitation. "Okay look, we both know Camille's awfully persuasive. I've talked to her, so I've seen how easily she can – "

Magnus held up a hand. "You don't need to explain Camille Belcourt to me. I know her better than anyone. And she's not the one on trial." His tone was low and brooked no room for argument.

Not that Simon gave him one. He simply nodded as if he'd anticipated that very response. "Right. Well, in that case… don't do it."

"Excuse me?"

"Isabelle would kill me for saying this," Simon muttered, sweeping a hand through his mop of untidy brown hair. "Look, I'm the last guy to be doling out words of wisdom, but here's my two cents anyway. Don't get back together with Alec. Not if you can't forgive him."

The last part wasn't a question, but it sure felt like one. Either way, Magnus ignored it. "Ah, reverse psychology. I see we're sticking with the classics."

Simon's brows pinched together. "I'm not trying to trick you. That's just what I think… based on my own experience." There was an edge to his voice that backed his claim.

Sitting up in his seat, the young vampire swallowed a lungful of air – one he no longer needed. Magnus recognized the human gesture. He was gathering his courage for something.

Curious in spite of himself, Magnus perked up.

"My mom liked to pretend I was oblivious at the time," Simon began, "but before my dad died, he… well. Let's just say he wasn't around much. Bit of a day drinker. Like father, like son, I guess."

If the vampire had been aiming for light-hearted humor, Magnus thought he'd widely missed the mark.

"Anyway," Simon soldiered on, "when my dad would finally come home, usually late at night, he and my mom always argued. About everything. How he was never home, how there was never any decent food in the house, how the neighbor's freaking Doberman never shut up if anyone so much as glanced at their front door – the list went on. Drove me and my sister crazy. There's a reason I practically lived at Clary's house growing up," he revealed. "My mom… I'm sure she knew. And I think part of the reason she'd try to carry on like normal – smiling all the time, and never, ever talking about it – was to try and make our house livable again, make me and my sister happier. I never told her, but she wasn't really fooling anyone. She was never happy. She never forgave my dad, even after he died, and it showed.

"So if you can't get past what Alec's done," he said, aiming a pointed look at Magnus, "then don't force it. Don't get back together with him because it just… it doesn't work. Maybe superficially at first, but that's all it is: superficial."

At first, Magnus said nothing. Throughout the entire anecdote he had been scrutinizing the boy, combing his features, judging words and inflection for any sign of duplicity, any sign he was just saying whatever he thought the warlock needed to hear to win sympathy points. Magnus found none.

For some reason, that made it worse.

"So, Dobermans," Magnus said eventually. "Decent guard dogs, then?"

"What?"

"Nevermind." He abandoned his lofty tone. "You realize you're not telling me anything I don't already know."

Simon blinked. "I'm not?"

"No, not really. You told me not to get back together with Alec, and I'm not. Happy?"

"I – well, that's – uh, yeah. Okay then."

"Okay then," agreed Magnus. "Is that all?"

"Er…"

"I thought not."

Apparently Isabelle's leash wasn't quite as short as Magnus had first assumed. Like Clary, Simon hadn't dropped by simply because of their friend's iron fist. He had his own motive as well. Magnus would have smirked if the realization hadn't just prolonged this conversation.

Tipping his head back, he drained the final contents of his drink and slammed the bottle down on the coffee table. He wasn't sure what possessed him to say what he did next. "Well, go on then. Spill. Tell Uncle Magnus all about it. But FYI, I charge by the hour."

"Maybe you'd consider tossing a freebie to a fellow victim of Izzy's persistence."

Magnus inclined his head as if to say _Touché_ and gestured for him to continue.

He didn't.

Magnus thought it a display of great patience on his part when he didn't hang his head in sheer exasperation. Awkward silence was quickly becoming their thing and he was not a fan.

Just as he was about to say as much, he caught sight of Simon's gaze. It had slipped somewhere to his right, and Magnus followed it to the edge of the sofa, where Chairman Meow had at some point wandered over, collapsed, and begun snoring. There was a longing, almost hungry look in the vampire's eyes that was rather disconcerting.

"Cat got your tongue?" inquired Magnus. "Seriously, quit staring at him like that. He is not an appetizer."

Simon's focus shot back to the warlock. "I was just thinking," he said, then cut himself off.

"Yes?" Magnus leaned forward. "Growing old here, Stefan."

"You're not, though. Growing old, I mean. And," he grew quiet, "neither am I."

"That's generally how immortality works, yes."

"So I was wondering…."

"Yes…? Ah." Realization came swiftly, prompting Magnus to add, "So this _is_ about Isabelle," though Simon hadn't actually stated otherwise.

"Not just her," was the immediate protest. "Clary, too. Her mom and Luke. My mom. My sister, Rebecca. My bandmates. Everyone. I'm going to lose _everyone_ someday."

"That's life, kid. Immortal or no."

"You know what I mean."

Magnus sighed. "Yes."

'_Someday you and I will be the only two left.'_

Magnus pulled the words from his memory as if he'd spoken them yesterday. Perhaps he had; he couldn't really tell. After so long roaming the earth, days, months, and years started to run together. And people.

Well, not all people.

In a world as monotonous and oppressive as the one he found himself bound to for eternity, Magnus encountered the rare individual who could turn that world utterly upside down – a cosmic gift, as he often thought of them. Someone who enchanted him, challenged him, and brought color to an otherwise dull existence. Someone who reminded him that _surviving_ was not the equal of _living_.

Of all those people Magnus had been fortunate enough to discover, Alec, not surprisingly, topped the list. Like all mortal men, he was never static, always exciting… and constantly on the precipice of death. It was part of what made him so beautiful.

It was also precisely what made him so devastating. Magnus wasn't wrong when he had told Isabelle that immortals and mortals were a dangerous combination. It was an exercise in futility, a recipe for heartbreak. Mortality wasn't even the issue. It was eternal life – _that_ was the real curse. The truth of it was that he often spent more time mourning those loves once they were lost than he actually got to spend living with them.

And here he was, centuries later, still caught in the same vicious cycle.

Gently Magnus nudged Chairman Meow with his toe. "Fleeting companions," he said grimly, "are part of the gig, Seth. And as I don't intend to start a Lonely Hearts Club, I'm afraid you're out of luck here."

Simon swallowed hard. "Actually, it's Book Club I'm interested in."

It would have sounded ridiculous if not for the way it was said – seriously, carefully, and with so much hope it was a wonder he had kept it suppressed so long into the conversation. It brought Magnus up short.

Until the pieces suddenly fell into place, and he knew exactly what the young vampire desperately wanted to know.

"That spell that Camille promised Alec," Simon ventured, resting his elbows on his knees and his hands twisting more than ever. "The one in the Book of White, for taking away immortality… does it actually exist?"

"Yes," said Magnus slowly. "But you would not be a viable candidate for it."

"Why not?"

"You're dead, Simon." The boy's lips parted. Whether he was more taken aback by the bald statement or the sound of his own name, Magnus couldn't tell. "That spell is intended to reverse immortality. If _yours_ was taken away… I think you can deduce what would happen."

"Right," said Simon weakly, falling back in his chair with a dull _thump!_ "So there's nothing for it, then."

"Afraid not."

Eventually he nodded and said, "Right. Well, I guess I already knew that."

That surprised Magnus. "Did you?"

"I knew you don't get something for nothing. Still, I had to ask."

Magnus peered at him skeptically. "You sound strangely optimistic for a guy who basically just received the equivalent of a terminal diagnosis."

"On behalf of dead people everywhere, I take great offense to that."

"Kid, if you're going to survive an eternity, you need to develop a thicker skin than that."

"My skin's plenty thick, thank you very much."

"Yes, that's right. You're dating the Warrior Princess in all her whip-wielding glory." Magnus shook his head. "Your instinct for self-preservation astounds me."

"Mortal or no, she could crush me," agreed Simon.

Had it not been for a recent, rather insightful conversation with the girl in question, Magnus would not have said, "Oh, I'm not so sure."

Simon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Just that you two might be more evenly matched than you think." Then, because it was getting far too personal for his tastes, he tempered the sentiment with, "Besides, you do realize that pop culture has never been more obsessed with vampires than it is right now? Go with it, I say."

Simon let out an indelicate snort. "Somehow I don't think gold contacts and body glitter would earn me points with Isabelle." He gave the warlock a considering look. "Although it apparently worked on her brother…"

"Watch it."

"Sorry." Far from looking contrite, Simon grinned. "Besides, you're not telling me anything I don't already know."

Magnus quirked an eyebrow at the turnabout. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Where do I draw the line?" he asked earnestly. "Stop dating her? Stop seeing her at all? Stop living altogether? Because I'm _immortal_ now? What kind of sense does that make?"

Like the flip of a switch, Magnus's good humor vanished. "It makes sense to the other half of the doomed pair," he said flatly.

Simon's mouth formed a silent O and immediately Magnus recognized his fatal mistake. Whatever tentative connection existed between them snapped instantly.

"The _other_ half? You mean… you're worried about Alec?" Clearly Simon was just as shocked by the confession as Magnus. "I thought you were mad at him."

"I am mad."

The fact that his anger was currently directed at his own carelessness was irrelevant.

Simon didn't look convinced. "Is that why you won't forgive him? Because the relationship was always 'doomed,' so there's no point?" He stared at Magnus like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Which wasn't too far from the truth, actually. "You're protecting him?"

Magnus clamped his mouth shut out of self-preservation while Simon, who had none, continued pushing his luck.

"Is it really so impossible, then, for you and Alec to – "

It was the final straw.

The warlock unleashed the full force of his piercing cat-eyes upon his guest, who responded with the verbal equivalent of ducking for cover. Magnus took little pleasure from it. Simon's unfinished, unanswered question hovered above them like a dark cloud, taunting them, expanding until it filled the entire room and they were left to drown in the sheer awkwardness of it.

Until Simon finally broke the stalemate.

"So…" His hands twitched. "Is that drink offer still good?"

Groaning, Magnus buried his face in his hands. Between his fingers he cut a glance at the clock hanging on the far wall and quickly did the math.

_That settles it_, he decided. _There is no way the deliveryman is getting a tip after this_.

**FIN**

* * *

**A/N:** Exercised a little more artistic license with this one, but oh well. I had fun with it. These two characters are probably my favorites in the series and I really wish they shared more scenes in canon.

So, this is the final "missing scene" and for all intents and purposes this story is now complete. However, I'm considering (key word _considering_) doing a bonus chapter that highlights the Magnus/Jace conversation in CoHF, but reworking it from Magnus's point of view and taking into account the events of this story. Thoughts?


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